Ace of Hearts
by NDV
Summary: Follows "Wounded": Mandy and CJ play a game of poker with intriguing stakes...


The Ace of Hearts -Liza (malenka@malenkaya.com) Spoilers: Season One, basically. Disclaimers: Don't own, blah blah, do I really need to do this? Rating: PG, I guess. it'll go higher once I actually get into this series. This is still part of the lead-in. Pairing: CJ/Mandy AN: Yeah, make sure you've read the Wounded series (Adminiculum, Castrum, Periculum, and Cito) first, or parts of this will make absolutely no sense to you. As with Wounded, the lyrics at the end are bits of the ME song Please Forgive Me. Though you may or may not now, in the long run, you'll understand the ones I've chosen. There will be more in the series, assuming anyone's interested ;-)  
  
Joyful faces, full of laughter and beauty and a naïveté she'd regretfully lost long ago, a beauty unencompassed by the black and white photograph from thirty years before. CJ's hands swept gracefully over the frame, fingertips lingering against each angle, each line, as she traced the eyes and smiles of herself and her two brothers, the three musketeers against the world, the older brothers that let baby sister tag along. It seemed so far gone, then, as she sat in a well-worn office chair in her office, the office of the Press Secretary to the President of the United States, and a smile spread like wildfire across her face as she realized that, though those days were far behind, she'd come to a place she did not regret.  
  
"I'd offer you a penny for your thoughts," a low, almost husky voice began, a hopeful undertone barely audible through her words, "but I'm not sure if you'd take me up on it."  
  
CJ chuckled, sighed almost inwardly, and carefully set the frame on the shelf once more, sparing her childhood one last grateful look. The smile still firmly planted, she spun the chair much like the little girl in the photograph would have, and allowed her eyes to rest on the intriguing, somewhat intrusive, presence at her door.  
  
Brown hair, green eyes, well tailored suit. She was significantly shorter and more handsome than she found her own reflection, independent and strong though her words seemed to reveal her neediness, her vulnerabilities. Mandy shifted uncomfortably beneath the scrutinizing stare, sliding a hand through her hair self-consciously as she straightened her skirt with the other.  
  
"It's Tuesday," CJ remarked offhandedly, watching almost worriedly for any reaction her words might reveal.  
  
"Yes," Mandy agreed, nodding subconsciously.  
  
"I'm done for the day. You?" she queried, standing to her feet and shimmying into her overcoat in one smooth movement, pointedly leaving her briefcase behind.  
  
The brunette swallowed, forcing her widened eyes back to their expression, then asked, "Still interested in that poker rematch, if it can be called that?"  
  
"Of course. I always rise to a challenge, Mandy. You should know that," CJ grinned, tapping her fingers against Mandy's shoulder as she walked past, leaving her to follow behind. "Your place or mine?" she called back over her shoulder, voice sounding almost lascivious to the other's ears, then again, she was like that, the brunette thought, a born coquette with a tease to spare for even the least.  
  
"Unless you want my roommate to witness your defeat," she began, a lazy grin spreading across her face as she doubled her pace to keep up, sparing a last glance at her retreating back before falling into stride with the taller woman. "It'll have to be yours."  
  
"Who says I don't have a roommate?" CJ raised an eyebrow, cocking her head to the side and allowing Mandy a quick glimpse of stretched tendons and graceful neck. Feline, she thought again, the woman is almost feline in her movements. So graceful.  
  
"I've read your FBI file, CJ," she nonchalantly replied, causing the other to stop in her tracks, whirl around, and stare at the shorter woman.  
  
"Oh?"  
  
She nodded, her grin belying her humor, "So, your place?"  
  
"Oh," CJ fought her own grin, "okay. But we're going to have a discussion about this reading of FBI files at a later date, young lady," she mocked, one leg placed in front of the other in what Mandy felt was a deliberately calculated manner, meant to drive anyone to distraction.  
  
"I'm hardly a young lady, CJ," she rolled her eyes. "Now," she continued, as security waved them onward and they exited the White House, heading for the parking lot, "I think we need to set some ground rules for this game."  
  
"Uh, it's poker. The rules are pretty much set. You pick a format, you pick a couple of wild cards, you set limits on betting, and you play," CJ again cocked an eyebrow, this time refusing to grace Mandy with the inquisitive look she was fighting. No use in admitting her curiosity, she thought, certain she'd explain regardless of her reaction.  
  
"Seriously, CJ."  
  
"Seriously, Mandy," CJ mimicked, grinning lightly to herself, the tiniest of bounces marking her step.  
  
"Listen to me for a minute, would you?" Mandy began, turning behind CJ and again doubling her pace to catch up as they headed for the Press Secretary's parking spot.  
  
"It's a poker game, Mandy. There's only so much seriousness allowed before it goes from fun to soporific," she reminded her, nose wrinkling in distaste and listening as her car beeped, signaling that it had been unlocked and was safe for the two to enter.  
  
"I'm aware of that," she sighed, slipping into the passenger seat and turning to watch CJ get into the car, long legs folding beneath her. "I don't think you want to end up in debt to me again, as happened the last round of poker we attempted," she began, ignoring the rolling of eyes and partial glare sent her way, "granted there were more people involved, then." She gripped the dashboard as the blonde threw the car into reverse, then overdrive, jerking her forward unexpectedly. Quietly, she snapped her seat belt, then continued, "And I have an idea to make this more interesting."  
  
"I'm not playing strip poker," CJ said, quite suddenly breaking into the almost-one-sided conversation. Pausing a moment, she amended, "Unless there are massive quantities of alcohol involved," she sighed, only half-kidding. "That's all I need, a photographer sitting just outside my window taking pictures for The Post. Can you see the headline? "Bartlet Staffers Outline Foreign Policy while Playing Strip Poker". God."  
  
Mandy emitted a full-throated laugh, smoky and loud, and CJ found herself caught between interest and confusion at the sound. It was so unusual, she pondered, to hear anyone laugh like that, though she wasn't quite sure whatever she'd said had been so humorous.  
  
"I wasn't suggesting strip-poker, CJ," she finally gasped, mentally noting that she'd said nothing that indicated she was completely aghast with any sort of involvement with her and stripping - directly at least - and the other woman fought the urge to grin. It was rare that she sounded so uninhibited, so free. Mandy had so much potential if she'd just let herself go a little more often, she had thought once, and again it occurred to her just how fascinating, how hazy and handsome the woman in her passenger seat could be. "I was thinking something more along the lines of playing for secrets instead of money."  
  
Again, the Press Secretary cocked an eyebrow, this time turning to face the brunette, confusion written plainly across her face. "It's late, I've worked all day, don't make me think."  
  
"Sorry," she chuckled, "If I win, you have to tell me something no one else knows about you," Mandy explained cautiously, "and if you win, I'll do the same. Neither of us really loses, then, as we keep our money and it's all in the interest of friendship. And there's no risk of anyone else finding out, because we'll have equal amounts of material, pretty much."  
  
CJ nodded, pulling her lower lip between her teeth and facing the road. "Okay," she finally digressed. "Mandy," she sighed, words coming almost as an afterthought, shaking her head and releasing her lip, "I don't think you'd go back and tell anyone - namely the press - what I say to you, if that's why you're doing this. I'm not that.insensitive, am I?"  
  
"No, no," she argued lightly, "I just thought this would be more even," she struggled for wording, "more interesting. It's all in the name of. friendship, right? No press involved."  
  
"Okay," CJ's voice was almost a whisper, "I apologize for jumping to conclusions again," she cleared her throat, "it's been a long day."  
  
"More like a long year," Mandy nodded, leaning her head backward into the cool leather of the Mustang. "Thank you," she impulsively spoke a few moments later, "for, you know, not keeping me out of the loop even after the memo thing. I realize that it's cost you, you know, that they're pissed at you too, even though you had nothing to do with it. I tried to tell them that," she stumbled over her words, pausing, "but it's like I'm not there anymore. Then again, maybe I never really was."  
  
"It's okay, Mandy," CJ reassured a few moments later, allowing her hand to slip over the leather, fingertips dragging slowly as she laid long fingers and warm palm over the smaller hand to her right. "It'll work out. People forget, and they'll forgive you. They just need time."  
  
"People never forget in this town, CJ, that's why it's called politics."  
  
---  
  
"Hmm," she muttered, tapping a perfectly manicured nail against the bottle before lifting it to her lips. Pulling it away, CJ frowned, glanced warily between the cards in her hand and the woman across from her, then played her hand. "Three Jacks."  
  
"Straight flush," Mandy replied with a smirk, "Queen high. So tell me, CJ, what does no one else know?"  
  
With a quick chuckle, she spoke, "How tall I really am. I mean, bearing in mind that I'm the tallest woman from Bartlet's staff and you're, well, you're at least one of the shortest," the words trailed off, drowned by the Heineken she poured between her lips.  
  
"CJ," the brunette reminded her, voice stern but eyes full of laughter, "you know the rules."  
  
Eyes slowly rolled, "It's poker. There are no rules."  
  
"CJ," her voice held an almost childish whine.  
  
"Fine, fine. Uhm, I once had a crush on Desi Arnaz, you know, when they were playing the old black and white reruns." When her words were received with a skeptical look, she attempted to explain further, "Okay, maybe you don't. When I was a little kid, maybe six or seven, I used to sack out on the living room floor and watch Lucy and Desi and Fred, Frank, whatever, and Ethel. Those were the good old days." CJ's bottle was raised in a quasi-salute/toast just before it again was moved to her lips.  
  
"I meant something a little more serious, CJ," Mandy observed, fighting the twist of her lips as they edged closer to smirking.  
  
"Ah, but you didn't specify before the game began, thus, it doesn't count," she mocked, eyes alight with silent laughter, like a child that's pulled the highest level of pranks on his mother and gone unpunished.  
  
"Okay, if you want to play it that way," Mandy nodded, pulling the cards into her hands and beginning to shuffle again. From the corner of her eye, she noted the straining tendons in CJ's neck as she threw her head back, draining the bottle of Abita. The Heineken did nothing for her, she'd complained earlier, and pulled out a bottle of Louisiana blend. The alcohol content was the same if not higher, Mandy'd quickly deduced and opted not to argue, concocting, in the back of her mind, a thousand different schemes of just how to get CJ drunk without joining her, and a million ideas of what to do with her when - and if - she succeeded. The lines of her throat only made the gears turn and her mind whirl faster, imagining her fingers, her tongue tracing those lines. She lifted her own bottle to her lips, attempting to assuage the dryness, taste of cotton, thirst. She could almost taste the salt of skin even beneath the drink.  
  
CJ dropped the bottle to her side, popping the top on the next and gazing quizzically at Mandy. Catching the look, the other quickly tossed the cards into their stacks then waited for the hands to be evaluated. In mere moments, CJ was patiently awaiting Mandy's turn of revelations.  
  
"When I was with Josh," she paused, moving her mouth around the words she wasn't sure she should say, "I tried to convince myself I was in love with him. I've done that before, tried to fall in love with someone, ended up coming out the worse for it in the long run, of course. I think when it ended with," she mocked, "Mr. Lyman, I realized I was never going to fall in love, that it was something I wasn't made to do. It almost bothered me for a while but then I realized, I have my work, and this," she tapped a bluntly rounded fingernail against the glass, tipping it, watching as the liquid swirled before she caught it, not allowing it to spill on the carpet, "and that's enough for me."  
  
"Sounds empty."  
  
"What do you have, that I don't?" Mandy queried, "No love, no social life, unless that's what you call this," her laughter was almost barked, "Friends?"  
  
CJ's eyes narrowed, nearly glaring, then softened almost immediately as she took in the barely-present sadness in her companion's brown eyes. "You can't make yourself fall in love, just happens," she remarked, closing her fingers around Mandy's wrist in an attempt to help stabilize the bottle she was still precariously rocking.  
  
"Speaking from experience?" her voice almost eager for another truth  
  
"Only if I lose the next hand."  
  
Her eyes lingered a moment longer, then stacked the cards and handed them over, "Your deal."  
  
Nodding, shuffling, cutting, shuffling again, then passing the cards between them, eyes never leaving her own fingernails. Turning upwards, following her gaze, taking the extra cards from her hands and passing two more toward her before gathering her own. CJ traced the vein as it extended from Mandy's middle finger to her wrist, further toward her elbow, with her eyes, mesmerized by the slightly risen ridge, the blueness beneath her skin.  
  
Laying her cards face down on the table, she looked toward Mandy, "I tried to give Danny the Lydells," she spoke, her voice soft, almost expectant.  
  
Mandy watched her, examined the wisps of hair as they fell about her face, head bowed. "I expected you to, CJ," she finally replied, voice equally soft, just as vulnerable.  
  
Nodding, she lifted her face and caught Mandy's gaze, "Okay."  
  
"It was him, the one you didn't have to work to love?"  
  
"It just was," she added, face falling forward once again, eyes fastening on her cards, her folded hand. "But it couldn't be."  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
"It wasn't your fault," CJ finished, the room falling into a silence that permeated the air. Moments later, she stood and retreated for the kitchen, "I need another beer."  
  
She floated, though her footsteps were heavy, they were graceful, and Mandy thought she was dancing on the air rather than the carpeted floor. A barefoot ballet of sorts.  
  
Picking up the discarded hand, she flipped it over with intent to shuffle, catching sight of the top card, the Ace of Spades, then fanned the others out. Ace of Spades, Ace of Diamonds, Ace of Clubs, Deuce, Deuce.  
  
Sevens, Deuces wild.  
  
Hearing footsteps that signaled her imminent return from the kitchen, Mandy lifted her own hand, fanned the cards and retrieved the third, put the rest in the stack and stood from the sofa, jiggling the glass top of the coffee table as she moved.  
  
"It's late," she remarked, "I think I should probably go."  
  
CJ glanced at the clock over her shoulder, three-eleven, and the hands ticked onward as she stepped forward and sat the last Abita on the table. "Okay. We should do this again, different stakes?"  
  
"Sounds good," Mandy nodded, moving to the door and retrieving her coat, CJ close behind her. She opened the door, then turned quickly, offering the down turned card between her fingertips to the taller woman.  
  
CJ's eyebrows rose simultaneously, and she accepted the card, moving to flip it over before Mandy's hand stopped her.  
  
An expectant, penetrating look that made her insides churn and bubble. "I'm resigning."  
  
And she was gone.  
  
The Press Secretary stood still for a moment, the door held open in one hand and the card still facing downward in the other. She'd known, she'd known she wouldn't stay, would have to leave. Because she was right in what she'd said before; in politics no one forgets, no one forgives. That's how the grandest game of all is played.  
  
Closing the door softly, sliding the dead bolt into place, she flipped the plastic between her fingertips, chuckling, smiling to herself as she moved back to the table, dropped it to the glass, and received the icy bottle, water condensing against the outside. She switched off the lights and headed down the hallway, toeing off her socks as she slipped into the bedroom and fell unceremoniously and still dressed onto the bed, sleep coming quickly, Abita just beyond her fingertips.  
  
The Ace of Hearts.  
  
"I unlock this secret inside; what should I think? I've had too much to drink, as my mind and my body collide." 


End file.
